


Calm Before the Storm

by imaginary_golux



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebell is away so that his little gold won't interfere with Beauty's rising.  Menolly and Robinton have a little while yet to wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm Before the Storm

It seems strange to be doing this without Sebell, but Kimi might react badly to Beauty’s heat, so it is only Menolly and Robinton in the big bed under the furs, listening to Zair and Beauty trilling back and forth. There is a skin of good Benden wine sitting on the table, half-full and slumped over from dinner, and Menolly is full and sleepy and contented in a way she is not yet quite accustomed to being.

Robinton is tucked up around her, their legs tangled together and his chin against the top of her head, and she stretches just to enjoy his quiet grumble at being disturbed, and the way he winds himself around her again as soon as she stops moving. Robinton, to her initial blank astonishment, loves to curl himself around people, holding them close as though he will never let go. When he is in public, of course, he holds himself aloof, as the Masterharper must, but here in their bed he retains no such pretense. Menolly, too long lonely, makes no objection to his tendencies to drape himself all over his bedmates, and their fire-lizards have adjusted, though not without some annoyance, to having to share their people with each other.

In a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, they will be moving again, not to leave the bed but to somehow slide closer to each other. Menolly looks forward, drowsily, to the welcome weight of her lover, to the warmth of his hands and of his skin, to his low laughter when she runs her fingers lightly up his sides and his low moans when she reaches down with strong fingers to touch his most sensitive places. Beauty will not rise, dragging her human partner into lust and joy of flight, until the morning – tonight is for the humans, to learn each other again in the ancient dance without a tune.

Robinton loves her hands – he has told her so many times – their strength and their dexterity, their skill with flute or gitar, knife or rope, a fire-lizard or a man. He kisses them often, lavishing each knuckle and crease with its own soft press of lips, tracing the scar across her palm with a clever tongue.

Menolly has never considered herself much to look at – for goodness’ sake, people regularly mistake her for a lad! – but she has learned to like her body through her lovers’ eyes for more than its strength and skill. Under Robinton’s gaze she preens, now, stretching like Beauty to be admired; and always he admires her, with hands and eyes and soft words drawn unpracticed from his lips. It is those whispers she cherishes most – the words he has not thought out ahead of time, not set to music or to the cadences of drums, but which are drawn from him in heat and wonder of the moment, made for no one else but Menolly.

Soon, the easy somnolence of the evening will dissolve into movement and moaning, the soft words lovers use and the quiet cries which Menolly can never quite stifle. Already she can feel him lengthening against her, not quite hard but definitely thinking about it, and his hand is cupping her breast – gently, but certainly there. Soon, Menolly knows, Robinton will kick the furs away and rise over her, holding himself up on strong arms and smiling into her eyes, and she will open her arms and her legs and her heart and welcome him in.

For the moment, Menolly strokes Robinton’s arm where it lies across her chest, and smiles into the dimness, and is content.


End file.
